


Push Up to My Body (Sink Your Teeth Into My Flesh)

by Ceris_Malfoy



Series: Flesh [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Always-a-girl!Stiles, Anyone else wish that scene in season one went differently?, F/M, Frottage, Manhandling, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sexual Attraction, Stiles uses her words, and Peter likes to manhandle, and inadvertently saves the day, jennifer is a corpse throughout this entire fic, just thought you should know, okay?, or at least doesn't have to set Peter on fire, stiles really likes being manhandled, stiles won't put out with a dead body on the scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:57:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ceris_Malfoy/pseuds/Ceris_Malfoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Stiles is a girl with a totally (in)appropriate kink for being manhandled, Peter is Peter, and Stiles inadvertently saves the world (or at least Peter) through the power of her babbling.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push Up to My Body (Sink Your Teeth Into My Flesh)

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song 'Flesh' by Simon Curtis, of which the Nightcore Remixed version was playing on repeat the entire time I was writing this. 
> 
> Also, I'm not ashamed even a little bit for my sudden love for Peter/Stiles shipping. Even the creepy bits. OTP, how I love you so. This is my first (finished) attempt at it, and I hope it gets the job done.

Peter's hand is an iron band across the back of Stiles' neck, holding her down so effortlessly that Stiles doesn’t even have it in her to struggle. She’s been manhandled by werewolves before, but nothing like this. Scott was all rage and primal instinct, while Derek was all anger but oddly gentle for how badly he clearly wanted to beat her senseless. Peter, on the other hand… Peter’s strength is smooth, strong, and steady. Here is a werewolf who knows the bounds of his strength, and applies it as necessary.

Peter is _controlled_.

Stiles groans as her cheek hits the cold metal of the car; groans again when she feels the tell-tale tightening of her gut. _Shit_.

"I can be very persuasive, Stiles," Peter says, lightly, not a trace of anger in his voice, as if forcefully bending a sixteen-year-old teenager in a _very_ short dress over the hood of a dead woman’s car was normal; as if she couldn’t feel him lined up against the side of her body in a blazing line of heat and muscles. She’s long known that being manhandled was a _thing_ ; Jackson had already nicely proven that for her back in the eighth grade, but _this_? This is fire racing through her veins, a sharp, aching throb between her legs, and her heartbeat suddenly going machine-gun rapid. And he’s a _werewolf_ , which means that unlike Jackson, he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing to her.

And then Peter is moving, pressing himself firmly into her body from behind, and she can feel _everything_. His grip tightens on the back of her neck, a slight tell-tale pricking sensation that lets her know claws have been drawn – and _hello_ new kink.  "Don't make me persuade you," he warns, and his breath is warm against the side of Stiles' face. Stiles stills. He’s really, _really_ close and despite what her body is suddenly very desperately sure it wants, there’s still the fact that he’s pressing her over the trunk of his dead nurse’s car, with said dead nurse inside. There’s also the fact that Peter likely is bug-nuts crazy, but that’s not as big a turn-off as one might think, so she focuses firmly on the rotting corpse she’s currently positioned over.

" _Okay_ ," Stiles gasps as Peter leans his head to the side to in nose at the skin behind her ears, breathing deeply. _Christ_ , he's _scenting_ her. “Can you back off me now? ‘Cause this is seriously starting to get really uncomfortable, what with the _dead body_ and all.” There's a warm huff of laughter against her ear, and an even warmer hand settling on her hip, pulling her more firmly into his body, heat bleeding through the flimsy satin of her dress, and her breath catches in her throat at what she feels pressed into her ass. “ _Or_ you could do that,” she says, unable to stop the whimper that escapes her as she feels him hardening.

"I think," Peter says quietly, the hand against her neck squeezing sharply before moving, fingers tipped in razor-sharp claws trailing down Stiles' back, leaving firey trails of not-quite-pain, “that you _want_ to be persuaded.” And that voice of his dipping into that _completely_ innappropriate bedroom-purr? That should be _illegal_.

Stiles can’t help the way her body arches, pressing firmly into him. She can’t help the keening whimper that escapes her throat. She can’t help the way her eyes slip close or the way she ends up baring her throat in a sign research has told her means submission. And Peter? She doesn’t think that Peter can help the low, rumbling growl that escapes his own throat as his grip tightens on her hip, nor does she think he can stop the way his hips rut into her sharply. She shivers at the feel of him, long and thick and hard, against the curve of her ass. Her brain abruptly goes on holiday at the simple thought of _I did **that** to him_. It is a highly empowering feeling, as well as a highly erotic one, because at the end of the day? Peter was sex on a stick, and she …really _wasn’t_.

And somewhere between one thought and the next, she is being turned around to face Peter, being manhandled so that she is in prime position to eagerly wrap her legs around Peter’s hips and press into him in exactly the way she really, _really_ shouldn’t. And his hands are on her hips and he is mouthing at her neck – and no one has _ever_ had a hickey until a werewolf is the one giving it, _Jesus Christ –_ and his hips are thrusting, rutting up against her and she _wants_. This whole thing has gone too far, and she doesn’t even know what this _is_ , but she’s strangely okay with that. Very, very okay with it.

His hands are suddenly between them, one working at his zipper and the other struggling with the combination of tights and panties, and there’s a low, rumbling growl as his hands suddenly sprout claws, intent on just shredding the barrier. And it strikes her that she’s about to lose her virginity to a thirty-something-year-old werewolf on the trunk of a car containing a dead body in a parking garage, and well, actually, there is one _slight_ problem….

Her own hand grabs his wrist, just barely preventing his claws from shredding her tights and her underwear in one go. His eyes, so shockingly blue and so damn pretty and _Jesus_ Stiles _focus_ , look at her, entire body stilling.

She swallows, struggling to form words under the intensity of that look. “I’m fully on board with the rutting, Peter, mutual orgasms are awesome, but if you’re going to take my virginity can there be a bed involved or a chair or the back-seat of a car that _doesn’t_ contain a dead body?” It comes out in one big rush, her nerves finally catching up to her, because, _hello? Virgin_.

Peter continues staring at her, looking like he can’t quite figure something out. The haze of _want/hunger/need_ that had been apparently driving his actions for the past however-long is starting to clear, and Stiles feels like an idiot because _clearly_ mutual orgasms are no longer going to be on the table. There’s going to be _talking_ , and by the time that’s done, that haze will be completely gone and it’ll be back to threatening her for Scott’s username and password. (At this point, she’d just like it stated that Peter can _have_ Scott’s username and password, as long as he _finishes_ this, whatever this _is_.)

“Let me get this straight,” Peter finally says, voice sounding just as wrecked as he had looked just a few moments ago. “The only thing you’re objecting to here is the fact that there’s a dead body in the general vicinity.” He sounds flatly disbelieving.

She levels a _Look_ at him. “Dude, you may be old enough to be my father, I’m not sure ‘cause I don’t actually know how old you are, but you’re hot in ways that should be _illegal_. And besides, this whole ‘I’m bat-shit crazy’ thing you’ve got going on? Not buying it for a second. You’re not a fucking monster, even if you’re starting to edge into the territory a bit more than I like.” She takes a deep breath, releases it shakily, because he’s still _staring_. “I get the whole vengeance thing, I _really_ do, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you want _Scott_ of all people to be your backup, I’d _totally_ be fine with it.”

He blinks.

She shrugs. “Scott’s my brother in all but blood, and I love him dearly, but he’s not exactly the brightest bulb in the box and _really_? You couldn’t have picked a more naïvely, inherently _good_ teenager if you _tried_.” She shifts as much as she is able, because the trunk is not as comfy as she had thought it was when she was too turned-on to give a shit. “He won’t see things your way, not even if you drew him pictures and explained everything in really small words. He doesn’t see shades of grey, he’s stuck in that annoying white-vs-black mode really small children have. All he sees is murder and mayhem and someone he doesn’t know not only committing murder and mayhem but telling him he has to do the same or he dies and everyone he loves dies with him.” She levels him another _Look_. “Which was not cool at all, by the way. Don’t you know the best way to lure in innocents is with candy and video games?” And oh, god, she’s _babbling_ now. Sexy-times are _officially_ off the table now, even if only because she kinda wants to strangle herself.

And he’s still _looking_ at her, and this is not helping. Not at all.

“So I don’t know what you expect to happen when you track him down, but my guess is he’s somehow or another already convinced Derek to side with him against you because while he may not be the most intelligent being around, he’s got killer puppy-dog eyes and his cuteness factor has apparently been enhanced by, like, a thousand ever since you bit him, because, seriously? I grew up with the boy, I’ve been practically immune and using said puppy-dog eyes to both get out of trouble and get _into_ it since the third grade, and suddenly I can’t resist them when he turns them my way. And if _I_ can’t resist them, your nephew is _fucked_ , and consequently so are _you_ , because as soon as either of them see an opening, they’ll be going for your _throat_. With teeth. ‘Cause apparently Derek is really fond of ripping out undeserving people’s throats out with his teeth if his frequent threats are to believed, and would you please stop _staring_ at me? This is not helping, not at all, and the longer you stare the more I’m just gonna – ”

And, oh, _hello_. That’s Peter’s _mouth_. On hers. And that? That is his _tongue_ and…

…her brain fries again.

“A bed,” he finally murmurs when air becomes a really pressing issue. And she’s left staring at him, unable to follow that thought process because she's more than a little loopy because, _damn_ , but Peter knows how to use his tongue in ways that makes her long for that tongue to be otherwise occupied on other parts of her body. “I can do that.” And then he’s shoving her into the passenger side of his dead-nurse’s car.

(And if Peter breaks just about every traffic law in existence between the parking garage and an apartment she’s more than reasonably sure belongs to the dead nurse, and if Peter accidentally-on-purpose ends up biting her – more than once – over the course of the next three hours full of the kinkiest sex she’s ever even _dreamed_ about, and if somewhere in between all that Derek and Scott team up and end up getting Peter’s revenge for him, well… that’s a story for another day.)


End file.
